Family Unit
by bookwtchery
Summary: Jo gets a call in the middle of the night that leads the team into trouble. Will they know who to trust?
1. Chapter 1

Jo slapped the alarm clock violently before she was awake enough to realize it was the phone, not the clock, that was piercing her hard-earned sleep. She struggled to see the time, cursing as her eyes focused on the red glowing numbers. Christ. 3:12 AM. What in hell? Angrily she grabbed the phone.

"This had better be good," she growled in greeting.

Her threat was met with silence, and for some reason that angered more than frightened her. 3 AM was not a time that suited her to have someone pulling horror movie tactics.

"Look, you've got about 10 seconds before..."

"J...Jo..."

The reply was barely audible, but the pleading and desperation came through loud and clear. A surge of adrenaline jolted her completely awake and she bolted upright in bed.

"Mike? What's wrong? Are you OK?"

She silently cursed herself for the stupid question. He'd only said one word so far, but judging from the effort that one word seemed to take, he was definitely NOT OK. She heard what had to be a groan, then labored breathing. This, taken in context with how weak and strained his voice had sounded, was alarming her.

"Mike, say something. I'm still here."

The hesitation that followed was all the cue her body needed to remember to move. She put him on speaker phone while she ran around her bedroom getting dressed, though she was still so afraid she might miss something that she carried the phone with her and sat it in the dresser as she pulled out her jeans and a tank. The silence was worrisome, but when a coughing spasm echoed through the phone her alarm rose and she realized there were worse things than silence. He was clearly very sick or badly injured, most likely the latter considering the type of work they did. She pulled the tank over her head and grabbed the phone again.

"What's going on, Rivers? Talk to me."

"I need...Jo, need help."

"OK." she said, forcing calm into her voice. "It's going to be OK, Mike. I'm going to help you. Where are you?"

"...hurts...I couldn't...I tried..."

"Shhhh, I know it hurts, baby." she answered, too scared at this point to even realize what she had called him. "I know you're hurting. I'm going to help you. But I need to know where you are so I can get to you. Tell me where you are."

Where could he be? She wondered. None of them had been deployed for anything. The last couple of weeks had been quiet, their days spent doing nothing but maintenance on the Santini fleet and doing Santini charters. And really, unless he'd done a charter she didn't know about and had hit on some bruiser's wife, none of that had been dangerous. They had definitely made a lot of enemies in their work for the government, but few people knew who "they" were. Why would someone...no. She forced herself to stop the useless speculating. Panic wouldn't help either of them.

"Mike?"

No answer, not even the sound of labored breathing. OK, maybe she would take the sound of coughing spasms over silence.

"Come on, flyboy, ANSWER ME."

Calling him flyboy would normally rile him enough to return a volley, so the silence that followed was more telling than any of the conversation had been so far. Damn it, where were her shoes?

"Mike..." she urged again.

She was answered by another choking spasm and what might have been a suppressed sob. God help her, if he'd just gotten drunk and had gotten into a bar fight, he was definitely going to need medical attention when she got her hands on him. But Mike had never been a heavy drinker, she reminded herself, at least not in the time that she'd known him. He didn't like being out of control, so drunkenness was unlikely.

_Stop it, Jo._She chided herself. More useless speculating. She took a deep breath and tried again.

"Mike, honey, I need you to tell me where you are. I can't help you if I don't know where you are."

"I, uhm, I think..."

Great. He sounded confused. Head injury? Shock? She again forced herself to stop thinking and just do. She put the phone down again, making sure to hit the speaker phone button, while she slid her arms through her shoulder holster. She fastened it, checked her weapon to make sure it was loaded and the safety was on, then slid her jacket on over that. He was still rambling in his speech and wasn't making sense, but she tried again to get a location out of him.

"Take a deep breath, Mike. I need you to focus. I need to know where you are."

"I couldn't...I couldn't..." he began, but was unable to finish his sentence. His voice was sounding more and more strained, more distant. He was losing consciousness.

"Come on, Rivers, FOCUS." She said sharply, hoping to jar him a little and help him stay conscious a little longer. "I need you to FOCUS."

"...couldn't..." he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "But he's safe."

"WHO is safe? Is someone with you? Mike, where in hell are you? What's around you? Can you see anything?"

The response came in the form of what sounded like the phone dropping.

"Mike!" she yelled. "MIKE!"

There was no response. He must have passed out, or...no, not going down that road. Her first instinct was to hang up and head out to the Valley of the Gods. If Mike was wearing his Company-issued watch, Airwolf could pick up on its tracer signal. Her only worry about that course of action was, if he was as bad as he sounded, just getting to the Wolf could take time they just didn't have. Just before she ended the call and ran out the door blind, she had an idea.

Keeping her home phone line connected with whatever Mike was calling from, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Mike's home number.

"Hi, this is Mike. I'm on the phone with someone else right now, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you."

Great. His busy message. She looked blankly at both phones.

"You're HOME? You're home and you couldn't tell me?"

Immediately she regretted her chiding, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. He was obviously in pain, so maybe the pain was so bad he didn't know where he was. But Christ, what kind of injuries...?

That thought alone spurred her on. She grabbed a couple of extra clips and stuffed them into her jacket pocket then ran out her front door, keys in hand. She was already dialing another number by the time she reached her car, and was tearing out of the parking lot by the time a very groggy St. John Hawke picked up his phone.

"St. John! Wake up. Wake up NOW." Urgency had already bypassed the need for civility.

"Jo? Do you know what ti..."

"YES. I do. I need you to meet me at Mike's."

"What's..."

"He's in TROUBLE, St. John. Just meet me there. Now."

Frustrated, she hit the "end" key on her phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. Mike's house was 10 minutes from hers, but at the rate she was driving she was going to get there in 5. She had driving skills like her flying skills, but then the same person who taught her to fly had taught her to drive. Still, with the recent rain dampening the streets, she was glad it was too early in the morning for there to be too much traffic.

"Please be there, Mike." she said to herself as she ran a red light.


	2. Chapter 2

St. John stared briefly at the phone before he started to move. His cousin Jo could be a mother hen, but she wasn't an alarmist. Still, it COULDN'T be that bad. Could it?

Regardless, he had one main rule in life that he followed. When family or friends needed him, he was there. With that thought in mind, he grabbed his gun, his phone, and his keys, and was out the door.

He tried dialing Mike's home number as he tore down the wet streets in his jeep, but the calls kept going straight to voicemail. He tried calling Mike's cell, too, but there had been no answer. Finally he just gave up and drove. He only lived 15 minutes away, but at this moment, not knowing what was going on, 15 minutes felt like too damned long. Funny that it felt that way, he thought. Mike had been the one to insist that St. John get a place close to his when the freed POW had been up to living on his own, not that Mike wanted to babysit him, but it did feel good knowing that he had a friend close by. Now Mike was the one who needed him and the short distance may as well have been hundreds of miles. It was some comfort knowing that Jo lived closer, in Dom's old place, and was already on the way. She would get there first.

_Dom. _Thought of the man who had raised him gave him a mental wince, causing him to hit the gas and run the red light he'd been sitting at. He was just getting his life back, getting his family back. He was NOT going to lose it again.

"Just hang on, Mike," he said aloud.

Thoughts of the Scotland mission from two months ago invaded his mind. He remembered how he'd felt when he thought Mike was dead, and he wasn't about to go through that again. It had been all he could do to swallow his emotions enough to fly them home. He only vaguely remembered requesting systems analysis from Jason...something that was not only necessary from a flight standpoint, but it kept the conversation down to the merely necessary. He knew he would fall apart if he had to listen to a pep talk from Jason about how Mike's death wasn't his fault. Keep it to business, keep it to the safety checks. Then, when Airwolf's sensitive computers had picked up THREE life signs, not two, he'd been afraid to hope. Then when the O2 blood saturation numbers had started climbing as Jason administered oxygen, he began allowing hope to seep back in. He had pushed the Lady HARD to get Mike to the nearest ally hospital as quickly as possible, and that had been a success. They had saved Mike. St. John would be DAMNED if he was going to go through that again.

"Just hang on." he repeated, pulling himself out of the past as he nearly sideswiped a delivery truck. The driver shouted obscenities at him, but St. John just kept going. He had to get to Mike.

When he finally pulled up in front of the house, Jo was at the entrance, gun drawn. He must have broken the sound barrier to get there just after her, but whatever. He drew his weapon as he exited the jeep and approached.

"Any sounds from inside?"

The pretty blonde shook her head.

"No. I was about to go in when I saw you pull up. You drive like your brother."

"That, my dear, is debatable. Want to go in and see if I fight like my brother?"

"I already know you do." she answered, grinning at him. "Still, hopefully it will be just Mike in there and there will be no need for fighting."

He couldn't argue with that one. He was about to go in when Jo pushed her way in first. He cursed under his breath and followed her in, and they sidestepped down the hall back to back. The large living room just to the left of the entryway had been wrecked, but was clear. The same was found of the kitchen on the other side of the hall. They made their way from room to room, and in every instance it was the same. Hall bathroom, clear. The hall closet door was off its hinges and had been tossed, but was clear. The den, or what Mike called, "Living room, part 2.", was trashed like the rest of the house, but no one was there. What the hell was this, St. John wondered, a robbery gone bad? and did they KNOW who they were messing with?

The spare bedroom was also a bust, and busted, unfortunately.

"What the hell went on in here?" Jo whispered. St. John had no answer.

The only room left was the major's own bedroom. The door was open, and they could see that the bedclothes had been ripped and tossed, the mattress tossed aside and the box springs ripped open. Then a bloody footprint caught Jo's eye and she looked over to her left to see the object of their search huddled against the remains of a splintered desk against the wall.

"Mike!" she yelled, running into the room and reaching him before St. John even set foot into the room. He started at her approached, and when she realized she had startled him she pulled back and toned her voice down.

"Mike," she said gently, reaching out a hand but then unsure if she should touch him yet. "Mike, it's Jo. You're going to be OK."

"Just hang on, buddy. We're going to help you." St. John offered as he squatted down beside Jo.

"They didn't find it," Mike said weakly. "But they know where I live. They might...they might search..."

"Mike, you're already home," Jo said. She tilted up his head and he winced. She felt like wincing, too. Even with the limited light coming from the street lamp outside, he looked like hell.

"Home?"

"Yes. You called me...I'm sorry it took me a while to figure out where you were." She nodded to St. John as he stood up. "Look, we're going to have to move you to get a good look at you, see how badly you're hurt." she continued as St. John flipped on the light. Mike closed his eyes against the sudden brightness. Well, one eye, anyway. His left eye was already swollen shut.

"Telling you what doesn't...what doesn't hurt would be quicker." he quipped, chuckling painfully. His laugh turned into a kind of cough, and Jo looked pleadingly at St. John. This was going to be a job for a comrade. She was close to Mike, but St. John and Mike had a bond that was undeniable. If anyone could get him to hang on, she thought.

Thankfully he took the clue and knelt back down beside them.

"Let me do the moving, Rivers," he was saying. "Don't help. Just relax and trust me."

"Relax. Right." the badly beaten pilot said incredulously.

"Just don't try to help me. I can handle your weight, and I want to move you as little as possible while we figure out what's going on. Try to rest and let me do the work."

While St. John was talking, Jo had been doing a visual check for any obvious gushing wounds. Gushing anything out of your body was generally a bad idea and usually did not end well. Thankfully there seemed to be none of that. There was a good amount of blood, yes, but it seemed to be from multiple sources. She'd also timed his respiration while his attention was on St. John, remembering her ABC's. His airway seemed clear and unobstructed, and while his breathing was erratic and shallow, he was at least breathing. Circulation...well, his blood was doing something resembling circulating. His pulse was strong, although also fast and erratic. There was no doubt about it, though...they could stabilize him, but he needed a hospital, and soon.

"OK, pal." St. John was saying. "We're going to lay you out flat, and I'm not going to lie. It's going to hurt like a bitch. You want a morphine shot first?"

Rivers shook his head. He hated being out of control, even when he was among people he trusted.

St. John shook his head. "You're more like String every day."

"Just move me." was Mike's only reply.

St. John cleared an area free of debris and put a blanket down. Then Jo grabbed his legs and St. John grabbed him under the arms and stabilized his head, then in a quick scream it was all over.

"OK, it's over, it's over," Jo said soothingly as she moved up by his head. "Now we can give you the once over."

"I always knew you wanted to do that." Mike said, the adrenaline rush giving him something akin to a second wind.

"You're sure you don't want the morphine?" St. John asked, squatting down beside him again. "Buddy, this is going to hurt like hell, and what you just felt with us moving you is going to feel like a day spa compared to the field exam you're about to get."

Mike stared him down for a moment, but St. John knew he was winning the battle.

"You can trust me, Mike," he said as he laid a hand on the injured man's shoulder. "You know you can trust me. And you don't have to prove anything to us. So come on, stop being a tough guy. Let me give you the morphine. It'll at least take the edge off."

"We're right here, Mike," Jo whispered, gently smoothing back some stray blond curls. She frowned as she realized his skin was cold. He was going into shock. "Just let us take care of you."

Mike startled again when St. John stood abruptly and left the room. His breathing quickened, and it was already too fast and shallow. Jo carefully lifted one of his hands and held it between her two smaller ones.

"He just went to get the field kit, honey. We're not leaving you."

Each of them carried a field kit in their vehicles, a hazard of the type of work they often did. The one actually carried in Airwolf was more complete, but they would have what they needed to stabilize him.

"T...talk to me," he said. "I'm drifting."

"We're going to take care of that, Mike. Just rest. Do you feel my hand?"

He nodded, and that turned into another startle as St. John re-entered the room and opened the large metal field kit. As Jo soothed him some more, St. John opened a sterile needle and picked up a vial.

"N..no." Mike suddenly said desperately. "No. No more. No more."

Jo cast St. John a worried glance and looked down at her wounded friend.

"Mike? What do you mean?"

"No more drugs." he said weakly.

They both checked his arms and neck for any signs of an injection, but he was so bruised and cut an injection site would be difficult to find. Was he flashing back to the Scotland mission? His assailants had drugged him then, trying to get him to give up information, but it had backfired and Mike had slipped into a coma. Well, St. John had killed Mike's captors by then, but the drug had taken its full effect, and although it probably had saved his life by slowing down his metabolism, thereby lessening the effect of his injuries, St. John was plagued with guilt over not getting to him sooner. This made him hesitant to give Mike the morphine, but he knew he had to make a judgement call.

"Mike." St. John said quietly. "Mike, you know me, right?"

"Ssss...sinjin..." he slurred.

"That's right. And you can trust me, right?"

Mike gave a slight nod of his head.

"Good. Now listen to me. I'm going to give you just a half dose. It should kill the pain, give you a little high, but you should be able to stay conscious. Do you understand?"

Mike gave another slight nod of his head.

"I promise, buddy. I'm going to take care of you."

Mike finally agreed and St. John picked up one of his arms and started looking for the best site to inject. His other hand was being held by Jo, and she occasionally left hand-holding to caress his cheek or smooth his hair back. Mike winced a little when the needle went in, but Jo was sure it was small potatoes compared to what he was going through. Within a few seconds the narcotic was starting to take effect, and Jo felt his hand relax in hers.

"Did you really just give him a half dose?"

"I promsied, didn't I?" he said. "I'll give him the rest if he needs it, and..." he paused to make his point. "he IS going to need it. Right now he's feeling that half dose more because he's already such a wreck."

He started digging into the kit some more and pulled out some antiseptic and a few cleansing cloths, tossing some to Jo. "We'd better get to work before that stuff hits its peak. See how bad that eye is."

Jo nodded and they both went to work. Mike didn't so much as wince as she started dabbing at the bloody wound above his eye. St. John got a similar nonresponse as he checked Mike's arms and legs for broken bones.

"I called Jason while I was getting the kit." he said as he started unbuttoning Mike's shirt to check for abdominal wounds. "He's sending a team out to take him to a Company hospital."

Mike groaned and grabbed at St. John's hand as he pushed down one rib at a time to check for any give.

"Looks like a couple of cracked ones." St. John said as he put his other hand gently over Mike's and removed Mike's grip from his wrist.

"You think?" Jo said dryly.

St. John offered a smirk, but turned his attention to Mike.

"Hey, buddy, can you hear me?"

"Mmmm?" was Mike's only response.

"The good news is that I'm not going to poke and prod at you any more."

Mike didn't open his eyes, but turned his head in the direction of St. John's voice.

"I hear...hear a but..."

"Doesn't mean the poking and prodding is over. We're going to hand you over to some Company medics."

Before St. John could finish his sentence, Mike started to struggle to sit up. It took both Jo and St. John to keep him prone.

"Mike! It's OK. They're some of Jason's people."

"No...no more. No more."

"Mike." St. John said soothingly. "You need medical attention. And you need more than either Jo or I are trained for."

"It's not...not so bad..."

"That's because we drugged you, flyboy."

Poor choice of words, Jo realized instantly. Their wounded warrior let his fight or flight response kick in, and they found that even in the pain and morphine haze, he was a force to be reckoned with.

"I meant the painkillers," she said urgently as both she and St. John tried to push him back down. He was halfway to sitting up again when recognition hit his face again.

"Jo..." he said as he let himself be lowered back to the floor.

"That's right," she said, picking up the antiseptic bottle again to work on the cuts around his face. She frowned at the extensive bruising. He obviously had a concussion, probably a severe one. She had no idea how he was even conscious.

"There we go," she said gently as she finished the last of the visible cuts.

"Well, hate to break it to you, pal, but you won't be on the cover of GQ any time soon."

That caused Mike to chuckle weakly, then he groaned in pain. Jo gave his hand a squeeze, then got up and gathered some pillows to form a bolster to elevate his legs. She then covered him with one of the blankets from the wrecked bed before sitting on the floor beside him again and taking one of his hands.

"Shouldn't someone be here by now?" she asked St. John, trying and failing to hide the worry in her voice.

"They'll probably be here any minute," he said, but he took out his phone again anyway. He hit the speed dial for Jason as he stepped out into the hall.

"Locke."

"Jason. Where in hell is that transport?"

"They're not there yet?"

"Would I be calling you if they were?" he snapped. Then, "Look, I'm sorry. But he needs a hospital, and he needs it NOW. We've done all we can do for him here, and I think he's going into shock. Jason, if there is internal bleeding he could be dying on us as we speak."

There was a heavy silence on the other end, and then:

"It's that bad?"

"Remember how he looked in Scotland?"

"Remember? I'll never forget it. He scared the hell out of all of us."

"He looks WORSE than Scotland."

St. John heard a long exhale, then Jason spoke again.

"OK. Take him to the closest Company hospital. I'll come out and secure his apartment then I'll come find you. Just get him some help."

"I'd have already HAD him some help if I'd known it wasn't coming," St. John snapped, hanging up the phone before Jason could reply. Then, angry and determined, he took a deep breath and walked back down the hall to Mike's bedroom. Jo's head snapped around when he entered.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"Take one of the blankets and get into the back seat of your car. I'm going to carry him out to you then we're going to take him to the hospital."

"No one is coming? St. John..."

"I know. We've lost too much time already. Just do it."

She gave Mike a final squeeze of the hand then grabbed a blanket and headed out to her car. She climbed in, then spread the blanket out over the seat so she could cocoon him when St. John brought him out to her.

She didn't have to wait long before she saw St. John hefting Mike out in his arms.

"OK," he said breathlessly as he reached her car, "Here he is. Watch his head."

She reached over and helped pull him in, cradling her head in his lap as she pulled a blanket around him then helped St. John do the same with another blanket he'd brought out.

"He passed out again," she said as she suddenly realized that Mike should have been practically screaming with all that moving around.

St. John just closed the door and got into the driver's seat before he answered.

"I gave him the other half dose before I moved him," St. John explained.

"Good," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "He didn't need to suffer through that."

"He didn't need to suffer any of this, for whatever reason it happened," St. John said, glancing up at her in the rear view mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. "He's going to be OK. Just talk to him and keep him wrapped up tight. I'll get us there as quickly as I can."

"Talk? But he's..."

"Talk to him." St. John said firmly. "Even if you don't think he's hearing you, talk to him. He needs to hear our voices."

Jo nodded and looked back down at the man she was cradling.

"Did you hear St. John, honey?" she asked, not even noticing that the man driving looked up suddenly in the rear view mirror. "You're going to be OK. We're going to take care of you; We just need you to hang on for us."

As Jo looked out at the wet morning streets, she really hoped she was speaking the truth.

The trio rode in silence for a moment or two, the only sounds were Jo's soft murmuring and an occasional groan from Mike. The streets were a little busier now, but St. John still drove like a madman. This had taken entirely too long, and he and Jason were going to have a serious discussion once Mike got adequate medical care.

Almost on cue, his cell rang.

"Hawke." he growled into the phone.

"St. John. DON'T take Mike to the Company hospital."

"What do you mean DON'T take him?"

That last statement caused Jo to look up in alarm.

"The medic team wasn't just late. They were intercepted."

"Intercepted by WHO? Jason, this isn't making any sense."

"Take him to Santini Air. I've already called your brother. He'll pick you up and take you to the cabin."

"The cabin? Jason, he needs..."

"If you will let me finish a sentence, Archangel has already arranged for a doctor he trusts to be sent to the cabin."

"He needs more than a checkup!"

"It's just temporary. It will do no good to take him to a hospital, even a civilian hospital, if they kill him."

"Jason..." he began angrily.

"Just do it, St. John. I'll meet you there and explain."

St. John hung up and tossed his phone into the passenger seat.

"What's going on?" came a worried voice from the back.

"Change of plans," he said as he whipped the car around. He backtracked two blocks then took a road that would lead them to Santini Air. "How is he doing?"

"Unconscious."

"It's just the morphine." he said, as much to reassure himself as to reassure her. He didn't believe it, though.

"The morphine and the beating he took," she replied. "Why aren't we going to the hospital?"

"Jason says it's dangerous. He's having String meet us at the hangar."

"The HANGAR?"

St. John shrugged.

"That's what he said. He wouldn't tell us anything else. I trust Jason, Jo. He wouldn't put Mike's life in danger. It doesn't make sense to me, but I do trust him on that."

"I know. So do I." she said softly as she returned her attention to Mike.


	3. Chapter 3

They pulled into Santini Air parking lot, a grim-looking String leaning against his helicopter. St. John pulled the car onto the far side of the chopper, close to the door. String walked around and opened the chopper door, then turned and opened Jo's door. He flinched minutely when he saw Mike, but it was almost imperceptible and he recovered quickly.

"Hey Jo," he said simply. Then he leaned in and hooked his arms under Mike's. "Hey Rivers. You hear me?"

Mike opened his one good eye in response. String grinned at him.

"You look like crap, man."

"Thanks." Mike whispered.

"Brace yourself. Gonna start moving."

Mike groaned as String started pulling Mike out over Jo's legs. She sat there and helped move him inch by inch, feeding him to String and St. John until he was completely out. As gently as they could they placed him inside the chopper while Jo locked her car and climbed in on the other side. String stretched out a wool blanket on top of the one he was already wrapped in, and Jo grabbed an oxygen mask from the helicopter's equipment.

"Keep him warm, Jo," St. John said as the brothers climbed in the front and strapped on headsets.

String was just starting up the rotors when Jason pulled up. He parked his car and ran to the chopper.

"Room for one more?" he yelled over the rotors as he climbed in.

String continued the flight sequence, and no one said anything as the chopper lifted and took off in the direction of the cabin.

The entire flight was tight and tense. The uninjured men said nothing, Mike was drifting in and out of consciousness, and Jo kept busy tending to him. They were all worried about how Mike's battered head would deal with the change in pressure, but if there was any increase in pain he didn't register it. But then he was mostly unconscious, so that might have had something to do with that. Thankfully the flight only lasted a few minutes until the cabin came into view. Jo could see Caitlin standing on the porch, leaning against one of the pillars at the top of the steps.

"Going down!" String yelled over the noise. Then, "Gonna feel a bump, Rivers, but I'll set her down as easy as I can."

Mike didn't respond, and before Jo could take another breath, they were on the ground. The warning about the bump was unnecessary, because String could land anything and you'd think you'd landed on feathers

St. John hopped out and opened the rear door as String shut everything down.

"Hey pal," Jason said as he unstrapped himself and knelt beside Jo. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," he admitted. "Did…did they find it?"

"No," Jason said. "It was right where you left it. Now come on, let's get you inside."

By then String was by his brother's side. Locke helped Jo sit Mike up, and the Hawke brothers lifted him out.

"Easy, buddy," St. John said as he adjusted his grip under Mike's arms. "We're going to start moving now."

As they walked away, Jo glared at Jason.

"What didn't they find? What was he talking about?"

"Relax, Jo. I'll explain everything."

"Damned straight you will."

Jason sighed.

"Look, let's get inside. We can talk there after we get him situated."

Jo let out an exasperated sigh herself and left the chopper.


	4. Chapter 4

String and St. John carried Mike up the steps of the cabin as carefully as they could, but they were nearly knocked over as a small blond boy of about 8 burst through the door of the cabin, Caitlin trying in vain to stop him.

"Uncle Mike! Uncle Mike!"

The boy stopped cold as he saw that they were carrying him. String and St. John looked at each other, both wanting to tell the kid that Mike would be OK, but knowing very well they couldn't promise. They didn't have long to think about it anyway. They quickly had to refocus their energies on Mike. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but the young boy's sudden cries were stirring him awake, and the alarm in the kid's voice was obviously stirring a protective streak in Mike. Semiconscious and confused, he began fighting them and he nearly kicked String over.

"Let's get him inside before we hurt him, " St. John said as he scrambled to keep his grip.

"Or he hurts us." String said dryly. "Boy kicks like a mule even half dead."

"String!" Caitlin said harshly, pulling the boy in closer to her. St. John wisely started them moving again before an argument ensued.

Caitlin glared at the men as she restrained the young boy. He was damned near hysterical, and with good reason. He'd just recently watched his parents die, and now, after what he'd just seen and heard…

"Michael," she said calmly, although in truth she was just as alarmed as the child was. "Michael, calm down."

"Everybody keeps saying that, and worser and worser things keep happening!" he shouted.

"I know," she said as she watched the others file in. Jason had a grim look on his face but nodded to her as he walked past. Jo just looked vacant, on autopilot, and didn't seem to notice them at all. Been there, done that, she thought.

"I want to see Uncle Mike!" he protested as he took a step towards the door. Caitlin pulled him back and wrapped her arms around him.

"Let them get settled in first," she said as she sat down on the top step. "Then we'll go take a look-see, check on how he's doing."

"What happened to him?" the kid asked pleadingly, looking back at the cabin before sitting down beside her. He hadn't known Mike long…hadn't known any of them long, and Mike had been the first one to be able to get him to talk.

"Some bad men hurt him," she explained, putting an arm over his shoulders. "but we're going to help him as best we can."

"The same ones who hurt my parents?"

"I don't know. I don't think we know who did it yet. We can ask him when we go in to see him, if he's awake."

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the sun rise over the horizon. It was too nice of a day for something like this to be happening, she thought. Then she closed her eyes to calm herself, and that's when the kid asked the scary question.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" Michael asked, wiping a tear from his eyes.

She looked at him before answering, and she knew that she had a tear in her eyes too. Oh well, she thought, wiping it away. Good for the kid to see that adults have emotions too.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But we're going to do everything we can to try to make sure he doesn't."

"But isn't that why he's here?" Michael spoke warily, blue eyes glistening with tears he was trying to hold back. Too much sorrow for someone so young. And he'd seen the people who'd killed his parents.

"My Great Aunt Becky came home, and I thought she was getting better." He paused to sniff, and leaned his head on her shoulder. "But everybody was so said, and all these strange people kept coming and going. Mom said they were hostess nurses."

"Oh, I see." Caitlin let her brilliant red hair fall forward to hide her face as she wiped away another tear. "That sounds like a hospice nurse."

""What's that?" he asked.

Oh, boy, how to handle THAT question. How'd she open that can of worms?

"Well," she began, swallowing hard before she continued, "Sometimes when someone has been sick for a very long time, their body just gets really tired and can't keep going."

"And they die and go to heaven?"

"Some people think that. But when doctors know they've done all they can do, the person can go home to be more comfortable. Some towns have places called hospice, and people can either stay there to get cared for, or stay in their own homes and hospice will send nurses out to care for them. They also have people you can talk to if you're sad about someone who has died."

Caitlin looked at him sideways to gauge his reaction. The only thing she got was another question.

"Then why not be in a hospital, where the nurses already are:?"

Caitlin looked at him carefully.

"Michael, have you ever asked anyone these questions before?"

"No," he answered. "I was only 6 when Great Aunt Becky went away. I was just a little kid and didn't know the words to ask what I wanted to ask., or to say what I was feeling."

"I know what that's like." she said, and she thought he looked relieved. "You've been thinking mighty hard about this, haven't you?"

"Yeah," He looked up at her and shrugged. "Especially lately."

"Things have been scary, huh?"

"My mom was scared," Michael said. "I think my dad was scared too sometimes, but he never said."

"Adults get scared sometimes. I get scared."

"You do?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

She waited to see if he seemed to feel better about being scared, but he only said, "So, why not a hospital?"

Damn. Guess she wasn't getting out of that question either.

"Well, hospitals are noisy, and lots of times if people have a choice and have time to think about it, they will choose to be at home when their time comes. That way friends and family can come and go without worrying about visiting hours. To spend time with people they love, and say goodbye."

Michael looked at her suspiciously, and with his expression she could almost see a resemblance to Mike Rivers, with his angelic eyes and little blond curls.

"That's not why he's here?"

Caitlin studied the child carefully before deciding how to answer. The kid was holding up well, all things considered, but he was definitely connecting the dots between whatever had happened to the major and what had happened to his parents. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands in front of her.

"The people who hurt Uncle Mike still want to hurt him, so we need to hide him. We have to watch him very carefully because he can't defend himself right now. So we brought him here. The people we work for are going to send a doctor and some medical equipment."

"Like hospice?" he asked warily.

"Mmm, yes and no."

"How can it be both?"

"Yes because hospice does do things like that, send things and people to their patients' homes. And no, because that's not why we're doing it."

"We're keeping him safe."

"Yes."

"Can I see him now?"

She was about to suggest that they go in and check when a large white Bell helicopter appeared over the tree line.

"Archangel." String said from behind her. She jumped; she hadn't heard anyone come outside. Yet there he stood, coffee mug in hand, leaning casually against the door.

"Go on inside, Michael." he said, winking at the boy in amusement over her reaction. "St. John will let you see Mike if you ask him."

That was all the encouragement the kid needed to rush inside.

String stood back and watched him run in, then leaned against the doorframe again.

"You're good with kids," he offered, taking a drink of his coffee and ignoring her glare.

"He just needed someone to explain to him what was happening," she yelled over the noise of the landing chopper.

"How is he?" she added more softly as the rotors slowed to a complete halt.

"Better now that he isn't being carried around like a sack of potatoes," String answered, taking another sip of coffee. He glanced up at her over the top of his mug and added quietly, "I wanted to say something to him, you know."

They watched Archangel and a man they presumed to be the doctor get out and start their approach. Caitlin stood and leaned into String, and he wrapped his arms around her and let her sink into him.

"I know," She sighed, enjoying the small comfort. "You can't make promises in situations like this. Besides," she added, her eyes twinkling, "You were too busy trying not to get your ass kicked good by an unconscious man."

"I didn't mean for him to hear what I said."

"What did you say?" Archangel asked as he approached the front steps.

"Nothing." Caitlin gave String's hand a squeeze and took a step towards the edge of the porch.

"Ah," Michael gestured to the middle-aged man behind him with two med-tech cases in hand. "This is Dr. William Carter. And on that segue, how is our patient?"

"Blissfully unconscious when I stepped out here a moment ago," String answered as he glanced back towards the door. "The last dose of morphine St. John gave him will be wearing off soon, though, and he's going to wish he was unconscious then."

"Ouch."

"That's an understatement." String opened the door and looked around. "Well, are you coming in?"

"We're not here for a quilting bee," Caitlin added. "The boy's hurt. Go help him!"


	5. Chapter 5

St. John and String stood by the window watching Mike sliip in and out of consciousness. The two men had hefted him into the main bedroom; Caitlin had prepared it while String was out on the pickup. String looked from his brother to the man on the bed. Their cousin Jo sat on the bed holding the injured man's hand, and Jason Locke stood behind her, his hands on Jo's shoulders.

"I appreciate this," St. John said.

"He's part of the team, he's your best friend. Far as I'm concerned, he's family." String looked over at the people on an around the bed. "'Sides, as much as I might want to bust his chops from time to time, he sure as hell doesn't deserve THAT."

St. John let his mouth twitch into what was almost a grin. His best friend and his brother didn't always get along. String was hard and grim, and Mike was everything but that, but the two had developed an easy friendship and respect for each other. Most of their volleys were friendly, but occasionally got heated. Sometimes Mike didn't see when he was taking a joke too far; sometimes String just couldn't see that he was being toxic. All in all, though, Mike had been one of the ones who brought St. John home, and String would always feel like he owed him for that.

"Did he say anything?"

"Mostly incoherent. Half the time he was awake he didn't know where he was, and that was BEFORE I gave him the morphine."

String clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"He's tough."

"Yeah." St. John paused to look at his brother. "Just wish he didn't have to use so much of it."

"We'll get them. For Mike and the kid."

"Speaking of, who IS the kid?"

String's eyes hardened.

"Ask Locke," he said angrily, then without another word, walked out.


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, how about it?" St. John asked Jason.  
>"How about what?"<br>The Airwolf liason and team member gave Jo's shoulder a squeeze and stepped over to the window.  
>"You seem to have ticked my brother off."<br>Jason smirked. "Like that's hard to do?"  
>"Well, you got me there. Regardless; you want to tell me what's going on here?"<br>Jason looked over at Mike, and back to St. John.  
>"Come on, out with it." St. John warned.<br>"The kid's parents worked for us…"  
>"Worked?"<br>"Yes," hissed Jason angrily, hushing his voice again when Jo looked over at them. "His parents were killed three days ago. They were scientists. Biochemists."  
>"Biochemists? So what, we're into biological weapons now?"<br>"DEFENSE AGAINST biological weapons."  
>Those last words were spoken in hushed tones through clenched teeth.<br>"So…whatever they were working on got them killed?"  
>"There was a leak. A month ago they started getting death threats. Then little things, like they noticed they were being followed. The final straw was last week when their son went to pick out a book for family reading time and there was a note for the parents. IN the kid's bedroom."<br>St. John turned away from Jason and rested his head against his forearm on the window. He already knew what was coming next, and he didn't want to go there. Memories flooded in of his own parents, of long nights trying to comfort his brother…no, he did not like where this was going.  
>"What did the Company do to protect them?"<br>"They wore tracers, we set up surveillance cameras in every room of their home, they had 24 hr bodyguard detail. The Martins themselves stayed armed at all times."  
>St. John closed his eyes against the wave of pain that was coming. Shut it down, shut it down…no point falling apart now.<br>"What did the kid see?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answers.  
>"Their house was raided in the middle of the night…one of the guards had been bought off. They killed the parents in front of their son, St. John. I saw it all on the surveillance tapes. They apparently weren't expecting an 8 year old boy to give them so much trouble. Damnedest thing I've ever seen. Michael went on autopilot. Ran into the woods. Grabbed his dad's cell phone before he ran out the door, called us, then ditched the phone. I have no idea how a kid kept that much of a cool head…"<br>"I do." St. John didn't look up as he spoke.  
>"And that's exactly why we didn't bring you or String into this."<br>That caused him to look up.  
>"Well, we're in it now, aren't we? And in case you haven't noticed, Mike is too."<br>"Yes, we called Mike in to help us watch the kid."  
>"Michael. He has a name."<br>Jason looked down. "Sorry. Michael. I called him because we had logistics problems, and he subbed in. The kid…Michael took a real liking to Mike, and he was telling Mike more than he told any of us."  
>"Uncle Mike…" St. John said under his breath.<br>"Look, Mike was just looking out for…"  
>"So what does the Company want with Michael now?"<br>"What *I* want," Jason looked at him pointedly, "is to protect him. Now, he did show Mike where his parents kept their encryption codes…that's what Mike was keeping for him."  
>St. John turned around and leaned back against the window; he was getting restless and he wanted to do something. Watching Jo keep her vigil was going to be painful. String was right. They had to find the people who did this, for Mike's sake as well as the sake of the Martin child. And for the Martins, he allowed himself to add.<br>A sudden outcry from Jo got the attention of both men, and they ran to the bedside.  
>"We need help!" Jo cried. Mike had fallen into a coughing spasm, and she had grabbed some tissues to wipe his mouth and had come away with blood. "Where the hell is that doctor?"<br>St. John grabbed a towel as Jason pulled Jo away from Mike. Somewhere in all that commotion there was a moment's silence where he heard what had to be the best sound he'd heard all day: a Bell helicopter.  
>"Good timing, Archangel," he said under his breath. Then, to Jason, "Get Jo out of here. And get that doctor up here as soon as that thing lands!"<br>Then he turned his attention back to Mike.  
>"Come on, buddy, sit up for me. Come on…come on. There we go."<br>Mike struggled his way up and St. John sat on the bed and slipped and arm under his back to support him. Mike, too weak to do anything else, let his head fall onto St. John's chest.  
>"Just try to breathe. Easy….easy. I just heard Archangel land, so the doctor should be…"<br>His words were cut short by an older gentleman flying in the door. He wouldn't have let the man anywhere near Mike, but he wasn't given much choice. The man immediately started opening the two cases he had carried in with him, and he recognized Marella, one of Archangel's assistants, carrying more medical equipment in the door.  
>"Well, now, you must be Major Rivers. Let me have a look at you, lad, and I'll see what I can do for you."<br>"Ah, St. John," Archangel said nonchalantly as he came in the door. "I see you've met Dr. Carter."  
>"We've just met, thank you," St. John responded without taking his eyes off of Dr. Carter.<br>"Well, then, don't you think you should let him have a look at our major here?" Marella said gently as she laid a hand on St. John's arm. "You did the right thing by sitting him up, but let's lay him back down again and let Dr. Carter help him."  
>"He'll take good care of him, St. John," Archangel joined in.<br>St. John looked up at Marella, and she nodded at him. He looked over at the doctor, then back down at Mike, who had passed out again in his arms but was still breathing. Slowly St. John lowered him down and Marella helped slide him off of his arm. Then, her hand on his, she looked him directly in the eyes.  
>"I'm going to help Dr. Carter; I promise you I'll keep watch over him."<br>St. John nodded as Archangel walked over and started leading him towards the door.  
>"Hang in there, Mike," he said aloud, and he hesitated a moment even though he knew there would be no response. <div> 


	7. Chapter 7

Mike awoke with a start and struggled to sit up. He was weak, drenched in sweat, and he was sure there wasn't a single part of his body that didn't hurt. He struggled to remember where he was. It was too dark to tell by looking around, and it had become obvious that he wasn't going to sit up any time soon.  
>"Easy, kid," came a voice from over to his right. "You don't feel as good as you think you do."<br>"Yeah? I think I feel like crap, so I don't know that I like that logic," he said as he tried to peer into the corner. He was met with robust laughter, but his…visitor?…didn't lean forward into the sparse moonlight provided by the window. He didn't like not seeing who he was talking to, but he didn't get a bad feeling from whoever was with him. He felt…oddly safe, and considering that he had the crap beat out of him in his own home, he…the kid! He struggled to sit up again.  
>"Hey now, what did I just tell you?" There was movement from the chair in the corner, and a heavyset old man came forward. The face looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Stay down. The kid is fine. You did good, kid. Kept him safe. Lotta people couldn'ta done that, considering that they put you through."<br>"Who are they? And for that matter who the hell are you?" Mike asked, looking up at the old man through his one good eye. This caused another round of raucous laughter from the old man.  
>"I can see why my boys are so fond of you. You got spunk."<br>The old man sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to figure it out.  
>"No, no, no, this can't be right." he responded. "The Hawkes' father is dead. So is the man who raised them."<br>"Damned straight I am. You helped my boys get the bastard. Helped get our St. John back." The old man's face darkened. "And they hurt String. As if he hadn't suffered enough. Me, I was an old man, about done anyway. But him…I'll go balls to the wall for that kid. I sit up here with him sometimes. Not so much now that he has Cait, of course. Always knew those two would do good together."  
>Mike peered at the old man carefully, not trusting his senses. He'd definitely had some drugs…could tell by the way he felt. And God knows the Company wasn't above playing mind tricks that could turn your brain to mush.<br>"You…really are Dominic Santini?"  
>Dom, if that's who he was, nodded.<br>""But you're dead."  
>"Give him a gold star! Must be the blond hair."<br>Mike took a deep breath and knew he was in the Hawkes' cabin. The air was just fresher, cleaner. But he HAD gone through a beating and a half. Why wasn't he in a hospital?  
>"They're keeping you safe, kid. That hospital did the same to String, tore him down. They were gonna kill him too, before you and St. John got him out of there. They'd have killed you too. That's why my boys brought me up here."<br>"I…I'm still confused."  
>"I'm welcoming you to the family, boy. I really wished I could have raised ya."<br>Mike allowed himself to think for a moment that he could have wished that too, considering his crappy upbringing.  
>"You do us proud, kid. And my niece really likes you, too, so when she's ready to…"<br>"Jo? We're just good friends."  
>"Awww, tell me another one. Go after her, boy. That girl loves you. Just don't treat her like your current harem and we'll stay on good terms."<br>Dom leaned forward and kissed his cheek, Italian style.  
>"You do us proud, kid. Don't make a liar out of me."<br>Dominic Santini stood up and started to walk back over to his chair.  
>"Just hang on, kid. And welcome home."<br>"Wait! I still don't understand. I don't understand."

"Mike?"  
>"don't….don't understand. I don't understand."<br>"Mike, wake up, darlin'." Caitlin gently shook him awake. "Come on, now. Wake up."  
>And wake up he did, almost coming up off the bed. Would have too, if he wasn't already so weak. Caitlin grabbed his shoulders and settled him back down.<br>"Hey, relax. Just relax. You were dreaming."  
>He looked around the room, one open eye darting around taking in his surroundings.<br>"You're all right." she said softly as she dabbed a damp cloth against his swollen eye.  
>"Caitlin?"<br>She nodded.  
>"The Hawke cabin?"<br>Again she nodded.  
>"We're taking turns sitting with you until we're sure you're stable." she sad. "We couldn't risk taking you o a hospital. Somebody in the Company's got it bad for you, darlin. They'd have killed you for sure."<br>He raised up his hand until the IV line came into sight.  
>"Well, the Company loaned us some medicines and equipment," she said as she gave him a wink. "'Course, they don't know it yet."<br>Then she followed him to where his gaze kept returning.  
>"No one else in the room?"<br>She shook her head.  
>"Doc just stepped out. You sure you don't need something? I can go get him."<br>"No, no. Just thought I heard someone else, that's all."  
>She smiled at him as she re-dampened the cloth and reapplied it to his eye.<br>"Well, you did seem like you were dreaming. And you're running a pretty good fever." she said. "That can give you some pretty weird dreams all by itself."  
>"Fever?" Well, that would explain the cold sweats and chills.<br>Cait nodded. "Doc Carter had no sooner got you stable than you spiked a fever on us. You do know how to scare a person silly. You've only been awake once in the last two days. Do you remember anything?"  
>He closed his eyes and thought as he took in that information. Caitlin could see him struggling to come to terms with what she had just told him.<br>"No." he answered when he finally opened his eyes…eye…again. "No, I'm sorry."  
>"It's OK." she said gently, resting a soft hand on his bare shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You've been on some heavy drugs, and your face looks like you just went 10 rounds with Evander Holyfield."<br>"Gee, thanks."  
>She grinned at him, one of her brilliant smiles that could put anyone at ease. She was anything but at ease herself, though, as she felt the heat coming off of him. Still, no need to alarm him.<br>"I only meant that you have a head injury. Between that and the drugs, I'm not surprised you don't remember anything." She smiled at him again as she gently patted the damp cloth down the side of his face and neck. "Speaking of drugs, I should see if Doc has given you anything for that fever. Let me get him back in here."  
>He shook his head twice. "No. Give me a little while between doses. Maybe..." He stopped long enough to catch his breath. "maybe my head will clear."<br>She shook her head. "You and String might be polar opposites in personality, but I declare you're both stubborn as mules." She reached over onto the nightstand and picked up a thermometer. "Now open your mouth...there you go...close it."  
>She couldn't help but think that he looked like a pouty child as he suffered the thermometer, and that seemed to endear him to her more. She sat holding his hand until it beeped. Her face turned ashen when she saw the readout.<br>"Not good news, I take it?"  
>She shook her head grimly. "103.7. We've got to get you cooled down."<br>Without waiting for a response, she ran to the door.


	8. Chapter 8

String walked over to the fireplace and sat down beside Jo Santini, handing her a drink as he sat down. She said nothing, continuing to stare into the fire.  
>"Come on, kid. Take it." he urged in his quiet manner.<br>She waved him off and he took her hand and pushed the glass into it.  
>"String, I appreciate it, but..."<br>"So tell me, what's going on between you and Rivers?"  
>The petite blond looked over at him sharply. "He's a friend. We work together. But you know that."<br>"Hey, hey, truce!"  
>She smirked at him, then grew serious.<br>"Look, I'm just worried about him."  
>String leaned back, staring into the fire. "Yeah." he said. "I know that feeling. But honey, you're not doing him any good wearing yourself down. We've got his back. We've got yours too." He reached out and touched her chin lightly, and she swung her head around to look at him. He was taken aback briefly by the hollow look in her eyes. This was not the spitfire he grew up with, the fiery little Italian girl who took everything she did by storm. No, she seemed fragile and broken right now.<br>"Jo," he said, a little more harshly than he intended. "You haven't slept since that boy upstairs called you two days ago. You need to rest. You saved his life..."  
>"I'm not so sure about that..."<br>"Now let us help."  
>"Yeah, and you're so good at letting people help you." she shot back.<br>He shrugged. "Touche. Look, I'm not going to rag you about him..."  
>"Good."<br>"But do us all a favor, and save some of yourself for him when he wakes up? He's head over heels for you."  
>Jo snorted. "Rivers flirts with everything that moves."<br>He chuckled and shrugged. "Can't deny that. But you're special to him. I've seen the way he looks at you."  
>"He is a charmer," she said softly, leaning her head on her adopted cousin. He slipped an arm around her and pulled her in closer as a tear fell from her eyes. "God, String, what if he doesn't make it this time?"<br>"He's going. to. make it." String said firmly. "Look, he has a better chance here than he does in a hospital and you know it."  
>"I know, but..."<br>Her words were cut off as they heard the door burst open upstairs.  
>They both looked up at the open railing as the tiny redhead rushed into it, barely stopping herself from going over.<br>"Doc!" she called.  
>String was already moving for the door, Jo moving upstairs.<br>"He stepped out to get some air." String answered over his shoulder as he yanked the door open.  
>He stepped out onto the porch just in time to see a chopper he didn't recognize landing on his dock.<br>"Both of you get in there with Rivers!" he shouted back in the house. "And Cait, make sure you're both armed."  
>It was an unnecessary command for two reasons. Cait knew her husband's every muscle flinch and knew by his subtle change in stance that the chopper they all heard was not welcome, and both women already had guns at the ready. Secondly, the chopper only touched down long enough for the good doctor to run up to the machine and hop in. String didn't bother getting his rifle ready. He did take notice of the bird's identification numbers, though, and would have Archangel track it down.<br>He turned and walked back in the cabin, and looked up at the railing as he slowly shook his head.  
>"Looks like we've just lost our doctor." String said, whipping out his cell phone and punching in a series of numbers.<p> 


End file.
